"I've heard something about that," the fur-trader admitted cautiously.
"You told me Tom an' you didn't exactly gee."

"He'll never drive another bull-team for me again." West tacked to his
pronouncement a curdling oath.

"We'll call that settled, then. You're through bull-whackin', Tom."
There was a little twitch of whimsical mirth at the corners of the old
man's mouth.

"Now you're shoutin, C.N. Threw me down from start to finish, he did.
First off, when the breed girl busted the casks, he took her home
'stead of bringin' her to me. Then at old McRae's camp when I was
defendin' myself, he jumped me too. My notion is from the way he acted
that he let on to the red-coat where the cache was. Finally when I
rode out to rescue him, he sided in with the other fellow. Hadn't been
for him I'd never 'a' had this slug in my leg." The big smuggler
spoke with extraordinary vehemence, spicing his speech liberally with
sulphurous language.

The grizzled Yankee accepted the foreman's attitude with a wave of the
hand that dismissed any counterargument. But there was an ironic gleam
in his eye.

"'Nough said, West. If you're that sot on it, the boy quits the
company pay-roll as an employee right now. I won't have him annoyin'
you another hour. He becomes a member of the firm to-day."

The big bully's jaw sagged. He stared at his lean employer as though a
small bomb had exploded at his feet and numbed his brains. But he was